Refugee
by TigressKama
Summary: Humanity progressed enough to populate four planets before they screwed up. Now people are munching on each other, so our little group of people builds a machine that'll take them to a planet they can live on. But it takes them to the planet of the Trolls. This could either be really good, or really, really bad. Either way, there will be culture clash.
1. Chapter 1

**Refugee**

AN: I recently found Homestuck. In the course of a month I sold my soul to Hussie... I regret nothing!

I'm gonna try something new here so... Don't hate me! This is kind of a futuristic Zombiestuck thing I'm doing. No Sburb/Sgrub sessions obviously.

_**Prolouge**_

"Hurry up!"

"Move move move!"

Dark, smog filled streets with nary a light to be found, and tall buildings stand silent and grave. A group of nine run as quick as they can through the streets followed by hundreds of shuffling, moaning corpses. The group is covered from head to toe in makeshift armor, made from anything they could find. Jackets and pants covered in duct tape and the remnants of phone books and magazines. Several of them wear military helmets scavenged from fallen bases and many more wear football helmets. One at the front wears a blackened biker helmet, scavenged from a pile of crashed and burned corpses.

The group runs, followed by several mixed breed dogs that they'd trained, toward a dome shaped building. The group doesn't bother to shoot at the horde following them; they know it's pointless and that it would only attract more. Biker Helmet makes sure the rest of the group has made it through before slowly closing the ballistic glass door. He turns, and after a quick head count, draws a broad sword from his back and continues into the building. Two of the members, and blond child and a white haired child carrying katanas and supplies, take flashlights out of their bags and turn them on. The rest of the group surrounds the two children and go on the move.

The building has long since lost power, and the halls stay quiet and dark. What was once the pinnacle of science was now a dark tomb. The two brothers provide light, and by extension safety, peering around corners to spot the enemy. Luckily few are to be found, and are quickly taken care of either by the brothers themselves, or by others of the group. They continue on their way and stop at a small storage chamber where Biker Helmet picks up a small group of devices. The group moves on.

They soon stop at a larger room filled with specimens of marine life where a man in a red magazine bound hoodie in a football helmet grabs a jar of writhing squid like creatures. They move on, picking up anything useful from the rooms they pass and putting it in the bags the brothers carry, before stopping in a large chamber. Biker Helmet goes to the middle of the room followed by the older blond brother. They sit down and begin to assemble the pieces of machinery Biker Helmet had grabbed earlier. The rest of the group fortifies the door and guards it while Red Hoodie helps a woman in a green duct tape bound hoodie who is heavily pregnant sit down. The dogs walk around, smelling the room and begging for treats.

None of them speak, at least not verbally. Several times Biker Helmet signs to older brother, who responds in kind. They'd all learned that noise meant death a long time ago. Eventually Biker Helmet and older brother finish their work, and set the machine up. It is a small device about five inches tall on a three pronged stand. Two buttons, one red the other green, are on it. Long, thin wires stretch out into the air around it.

Biker Helmet and older brother survey their work, looking for mistakes. Another of the group, a dark skinned woman in a military helmet and brown jacket with a machete on her left hip and a pistol on her right, taps Biker Helmet on the shoulder. He turns to her, and she signs,

"Is it finished? Are we ready?"

He nods in reply, and she moves toward the pregnant woman. She helps her up, and the rest of the group stands as well. They form a loose circle around Biker Helmet and the older brother, who have taken a few steps away from the device. It sits in the middle of the room, small but full of promise. What kind of promise, they don't know.

"Are we really going to do this? Isn't there anything else we can do?" A man in a thick, grey, magazine and duct tape bound coat signs. The dogs shuffle and whine around his feet, picking up on his unease. The next to last of the group, a small woman in a blue paper bound jacket with a rifle across her back signs to him in response.

"What else are we going to do? As far as I can see, this is the only option. We're never safe here anymore. On any of the planets anymore. We all saw what happend to LOHAC." She signs. The blond brother shifts his feet, uncomfortable.

"Sorry Dirk. I know you and Dave were born there." She signs in apology. Dirk shrugs.

"It's fine. I've gotten over it, and little bro was to young to remember a before." He signs.

Biker Helmet snaps his fingers and all attention turns to him.

"We have no choice in the matter Marshall. We can't hold this place forever, even if we're the last ones. Those corpses always find a way inside. All they've got is time. Something we don't have." The newly named Marshall nods and pets one of the dogs at his side.

Biker Helmet turns and presses the green button. The air seems to vibrate before it opens revealing a large beach at night. The group draws their weapons and hesitantly move through the rift. They survey the area, and large beach at night with two moons in the sky, before Biker Helmet picks up the device, causing the rift to follow his movements, and presses the red button. The rift closes silently.

One at a time, the group takes a gold and blue bracelet out of the younger brothers bag. They put them on, and cautiously go on the move, searching for a, hopefully, friendly local.

**POV Change**

The rust blooded troll of no name, because he is of little importance at the moment, watches from atop a large rock face as strange creatures move along the beach. He wondered to himself what they could be. He continued to watch as they traveled south, and became nervous. Were these things a threat? He was already trespassing on a Highbloods territory. He didn't need the added trouble. The Highblood, however young, he could deal with. But... These things were an unknown factor.

Just then he heard the screech of the Highbloods Lusus, a flying sea beast. He quickly ducked behind a rock and waited for it to pass. It would take care of the creatures, and he could hunt in peace before leaving. Yes, that would work.

**POV Change: Back to the humans**

The group walked along the rock face, aware that there could be anything in the water. Besides the normal paranoia that came with a zombie apocalypse, they were all on an alien planet. Who knows what could be in there... Or what could be hiding in the holes in the rocks.

They all moved away from the rocks and walked in the middle of the beach. But what if something was in the sand? The group gave a collective sigh of 'fucking damn it all', because it was never going to be easy, was it?

As a giant seagull cawed above them, and headed in for a dive bomb the group decided that no, it wasn't ever going to be easy. They drew their weapons and prepared to fight. If they won, they'd be eating well.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be._

**AN: I received a review that was just '…?'. Please tell me what you're confused about if you are confused. I tend to forget that people don't live in my head, and so don't understand what I'm talking about all the time.**

The corpse of the giant seagull lay on the sand. Purple blood pooled around it and ran in rivulets into the ocean. A large gash ran through the birds stomach. The humans ran around the corpse, gathering meat and supplies from their most recent kill. The bags of supplies were on the ground and open. Five bloodied knives sat on a cloth that was out on the sand. Four members of the group were tending to the corpse, gutting it and taking whatever they could. Three members stand guard with their guns at the ready in case anyone comes close. The last two members of the group sit and clean the entrails and meat in the sea water.

"Guys," Marshall whispers. He barely speaks but they all work so quietly that his voice carries. "If this is the size of the fauna imagine the size of the locals!" Several heads nod in agreement but only one answers him.

"Not necessarily. On all the other planets we've been on none of the locals have been very big. I mean, on LOWAS the locals barely came up to our knees." Marsha, the pregnant woman cleaning the meat, answers. The boy next to her nods in agreement. He wears a black duct tape bound hoodie, and black gloves. He shifts further into the water to begin emptying out a portion of the small intestine, the water coming up to his waist.

The waves crash into the shore gently, and he watches the moonlight reflect as he works. He remembers going to a place similar to this when he was younger, before he traveled with this group. He didn't have a name back then. Not really anyway. His father only called him by his last name, Pembroke. Cerin, when he came along, started calling him Daemon. He told him it meant spirit.

When Cerin killed his father Daemon couldn't bring himself to be mad. He'd thanked him actually. Now that his father, a man that went by the name Spades Slick, was dead he wouldn't get beat anymore. His mother, Paint Pembroke, was a kind woman. Of course that meant she died early on. Although she was a fighter, she wasn't strong enough for zombies.

Daemon occasionally had nightmares about that night, when she'd been torn apart. Cerin helped him with them though. Spades always just told him to suck it up and to stop being a pussy. Yeah, Daemon was glad his father was dead. Had been for a long time.

Marshall meanwhile, was cleaning out the bird. He knew he shouldn't have talked out loud, who knew what was out here, but damn it he was excited! He couldn't wait to communicate with the animals here! His dogs, Kangal and Black Wolf mixes, were a huge help when he was alone. They were even more help now that he was with a group, sniffing out large animals to hunt and helping them find the best places to hold down so they didn't have to stay moving all the time.

Marshall's parents were from LOWAS and LOLAR. He'd inherited both his mother's animal commune powers and his fathers strength. As such, he'd spent his early life on LOWAS learning muscle control, and his later life on LOLAR learning to control his Psychs. He'd been trapped on LOFAF during the outbreak, and would have starved if it hadn't been for the dogs. Then he'd met Cerin, whom he considered his alpha. As far as Marshall was concerned, that was it. He was 105 years old, still pretty young, but he'd had a pretty good life.

Marsha was cleaning and cutting meat, thinking about before. She'd grown up on LOLAR, a sheild Psych, so she thought about things a lot. LOLAR's schools mainly focused on Philosophy and Psychology, only one of which she'd excelled at. One of the main questions that they were all taught to think about was the drastic increase in human lifespan thanks to the mushrooms found on LOWAS.

When they were dried and eaten they increased your lifespan tenfold. The first person to take them hadn't died, even at 1,012 years, so the question that popped up was, 'Is it a good idea to take them? What if you never die, what then?' Of course, everyone at their birth was given the mushrooms in a liquid form so it was a moot point. This brought Marsha to think about the life inside her. Should she have her/him take the mushrooms? What powers would he/she inherit? Hers or that of their Fathers? Or would they get both?

Her thoughts were interupted when Mani brought her a bowl of salt. She had her brown hair in a short ponytail, and her electric shotgun slung over her shoulder like usual.

"Thank you." Marsha signed. Mani nodded and drew her shotgun, going back to guarding. Marsha once again found herself thinking about Mani's weapon, and about how much better it was than her useless shock pistols. Mani's weapon was a shotgun that fired a blast of electricity that spread out like shotgun spray. Her shock pistols just fired a bullet filled with electricity. Good for slowing one person down, but not much else depending on where you hit. Meh, she'll just ask her if she wanted to trade later.

Cerin pulled a large group of feathers out of the corpse and relished in the sound of the ripping flesh. It was nice to be able to indulge in morbid things like that without having to worry about going to a therapist. Cerin had been born on Earth, as had his father, so he had a few problems with rage.

In 2178 the 2nd Great Dying began, all thanks to humans. It burned away much of what was left of the ozone layer and bathed the planet in solar radiation. Few humans, let alone animals, survived. Everything had to adapt, and quickly. The radiation allowed for faster mutation, and the human evolutionary track made a great call. All the animals left were bigger, and more aggressive, so humans became more aggressive. In an aggressive setting of course. There were some that had a few problems with controlling blood lust though.

Cerin had been one of these people before the Outbreak happened. He was calm, timid, most of the time. But when an aggressive move was made, it was time to break bones. Cerin was glad he was only born with that. He had ancestors from every planet, thus a chance to inherit every adaptation.

Strength, or wind control (which was rare) from LOWAS. Psychic abilities from LOLAR, or speed or limited time control from LOHAC, or the space control or regeneration from LOFAF. Each planet had special training a person went through to ensure that you had control by the time you were an adult.

When humanity finally set out into space these were the populated planets. Eventually, the planets all became one working system, albeit with different governments. Travel was common, and was almost necessary if you wanted a rounded education.

Cerin paused in his shredding to correct the movement of Dave's knife. He gently grabbed his wrist and put it on the spot next to the area he was about to cut.

"You'll shred the tips of the feathers if you cut it there." He signed to him. "Cut here instead. This way we can have pillows tonight." Dave's face lit up in an oh so familiar smirk at the thought of pillows. He quickly cut the bird in the place shown, using the Lohacian speed to get done faster.

Cerin had found Dave and Dirk on LOHAC during the outbreak. No family, no group, half starved just like he was at the time. Perfect family opportunity. Just then Dave cut himself while trying to get the knife through a particularly trying piece of muscle. Fuschia blood trickled down his arm, and suddenly Dirk was there bandaging the small cut. After he was done he received a nod from Dave and was gone, back to guarding.

A small amphibian, found on LOFAF allowed people to breath underwater. As a side affect it turned the blood fuschia when a person was near or in water due to certain chemicals the frogs produced. Poisonous to local fauna, harmless to humans. Just like with the Casey mushrooms found on LOWAS they were taken in at birth. No one had a problem with this advancement though. There was no harm done, in fact it was an improvement.

Humans got to live underwater, the amphibians got a stable home. Everybody wins.

Mani stood stock still, listening. She'd been put on guard duty today and damn it all if she was going to be the reason they all died. She was better then that. Her eyes wandered to her brother, Daemon. A while after the outbreak happened she had ran away from her family. She'd tried to convince her mother to come with her, and had tried to take Daemon, but only she had gotten away. Her entire family, bar Spades, was from LOLAR. Spades was from Earth, and he fucking showed it. Neither she nor Daemon (as far as she knew) had inherited the rage, but they had developed some interesting Psychs.

Mani was a simple Pyro Psych, nothing to special. Her brother on the other hand was a mind Psych. None of the group knew what kind yet. He never used it. Not like he had a need to anyway. Daemon had no genes from LOHAC, but she could almost swear he did by how fast he moved. He was dangerous enough with his Pyre daggers, dangers that could heat up to 800 degrees farenheit. But, she had a Bolt Shotgun, which was badassery all in itself.

"Guys." She heard Marsha say. Derek, her husband but not the father of her child and the last guard, shushed her quietly. Cerin had taught them that noise meant death, and he along with Dirk and Dave taught them all sign language. They'd been using that ever since, and it'd allowed them to live longer on more than one occasion.

"Guys." Marsha said again, and this time almost every face turned to look at her. None of the guards did of course. They were guarding. It'd be stupid to look at one person in unknown territory. Whatever Marsha might say could be important, so they were listening.

"When can have _pillows _tonight! Feather pillows!" She exclaimed before bursting into quiet tears. Mani felt the need to facepalm. Fucking pregnancy hormones.


End file.
